


moments of quiet

by UbiquitousMixie



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Sibling Incest, Spellcest, featuring a beloved mustard cardigan and not much else, love letter to Lucy's freckles, swingin sisters, witchy sisters getting it on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 04:09:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20669093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UbiquitousMixie/pseuds/UbiquitousMixie
Summary: In these moments of quiet, Hilda can hear fragments in her sister’s mind, snapshots of devotion and longing and tenderness.





	moments of quiet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winethroughwater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winethroughwater/gifts).

> This was sitting in my WIPs and begging to be finished. Based on the prompt "just the cardigan" and inspired by a freckle on Lucy Davis's stomach that I saw when we were at Wales Comic Con. I am but a useless, weak, thirsty lesbian.  
Aaaaanyway. Comments are the greatest ever, so let me know what you think!

When Hilda wakes, it’s with a smile on her face. 

She delights in the sensations of being watched, being touched, lingering in this liminal, hazy limbo for as long as she can. It’s peaceful here; she feels like she’s floating, drifting along in the warmth of gentle caresses and warmer thoughts. In these moments of quiet, Hilda can hear fragments in her sister’s mind, snapshots of devotion and longing and tenderness. 

In these moments of quiet, Zelda is free to think all the things she cannot say. They don’t discuss that Hilda can hear these thoughts as easily as if Zelda had spoken them aloud, nor do they discuss the fact that Zelda allows her mind to be so effortlessly penetrated. She would tolerate it from no one else. 

It is one of Zelda’s gifts to her sister.

_How I adore you..._

Hilda’s heart quickens, smile widening. She is caught. 

“Did I wake you, Hildie?” the older witch asks, her fingertips grazing gently against the rounded slopes of Hilda’s stomach. 

Bright blue eyes open, blink her sister into focus. Zelda lies on her side beside her, head resting on her fist as a curtain of copper hair falls over naked, pale shoulders. 

Hilda loves mornings. She craves the sun peeking through the curtains, the sense of possibility of each new day, but Hilda’s _favorite_ part of the morning has always been waking beside her sister. 

“I could hear you watching me.” 

Zelda smiles, observing her fingers’ progress as they swirl around and dip inside her sister’s navel. “You are far too tempting, sister.”

Hilda shivers as Zelda’s short, mauve nails scratch along her belly, paying extra attention to the freckle on her lower right side. Zelda leans forward, pulling open the yellow cardigan obstructing her view as she strokes her tongue along that most beloved of marks on her body. 

Hilda shrieks as her sister sucks, the sensation at once maddeningly ticklish and marvelously stimulating. Her teeth graze against her belly, over one of many little spots that Zelda has learned and loved over the years, and she squirms. She laughs breathlessly, scrunching her nose as she throws her head back into the pillow. Head spinning, Hilda grips a fistful of that sleep-tousled rose gold hair, holding her close before tugging her away. “I give! I give!” 

Zelda sucks hard before releasing her sister’s flesh with an exaggerated ‘pop.’ 

“You _know_ how ticklish I am ‘round the middle, Zelds!” 

“I do know. I also know how wet it makes you when I tease you there.” As if to prove herself right, Zelda’s fingers continue their trek south, scratching through dark blonde curls and sliding over her sex. She rests there for a moment, relishing the molten heat of her before she dips her middle finger effortlessly between slick, wet folds. 

Hilda has never been able to refrain from spreading her legs for Zelda -- she has never wanted to. She sighs into Zelda’s touch, her body now fully awake and straining to feel as much of Zelda as possible. 

With a swiftness that surprises them both, Hilda sits up and swings a leg over her sister’s hips, pushing her back against the mattress as she straddles her. The thatch of hair between her legs scratches against Zelda’s beneath her and she groans, rocking her pelvis in a rhythm perfected decades ago. “You’re right,” Hilda agrees, arching back as she swirls her hips. She pulls at her sweater, parting the yellow fabric until her round, sunkissed breasts are exposed to her sister’s eager gaze. Her nipples tighten as Zelda looks her fill. 

Zelda’s thoughts assault her, flooding her mind so quickly that Hilda cannot piece them together in any discernible order. There is want -- oh, how fucking much Zelda wants her, like she’s never wanted anyone. 

There is awe -- of Hilda’s beauty, of Hilda’s unwavering trust. 

There is urgency -- Zelda had been awake for so long just watching her, imagining this, working herself up into a state that only Hilda would be able to satisfy. 

Hilda is dizzy with it all. She’s overheated, is flushed with arousal. She makes to shrug off her sweater but Zelda digs her fingers into Hilda’s hips. “Leave it on,” Zelda demands, surging her hips upward. 

Zelda stares at her, greedy eyes wide with lust before her hands abandon hips for breasts. 

Hilda shudders and groans as Zelda gropes and teases. She gets lost in the heady drag of her cunt against her sister’s, in the way her body responds to Zelda’s familiar, loving touch. She loves her sister like this, completely free of makeup and jewelry and glamours. She is simply _her_ Zelds, exposed and vulnerable in a way she would never be with anyone other than her beloved baby sister. 

The romance of it all thrills her. “Sister, please don’t tease…” 

Zelda does not respond, instead pinching and palming her breasts, staring at the hypnotic sway of her tits as their hips grind leisurely together. 

Hilda doesn’t have to read Zelda’s thoughts to know how much she loves her tits: it’s written all over her face, has been ever since puberty struck and little Hildegard filled out her corsets in a way that would fuel her sister’s fascination forever. 

And ever. 

Hilda appreciates that the older witch wants to take her time, she truly does. She loves the lazy mornings they share now that they’ve got the house to themselves again, taking time to caress and linger and work each other into a slow lather without fear of interruption or guilt over not making breakfast.

Emergencies happen only once or twice a month these days -- a much more manageable pace. 

But Hilda is overwhelmed by Zelda’s desire for her, by how unchecked her own empathetic abilities are this early in the morning. That Zelda can want her so desperately when Hilda is rumpled with sleep and in one of the cardigans the older witch loves to mock makes her swoon, and she catches Zelda’s wrist in a tight grasp as she leans forward to steal a wet, wanting kiss. 

“Now, sister,” she whispers against the older witch’s lips, guiding Zelda’s hand between her legs, angling her hips to make room for pressing Zelda’s fingers against her slick folds. Hilda grinds down against that hand as she releases it. “Fuck me, Zelda.” 

Zelda opens her mouth to gasp, nipping sharply at Hilda’s bottom lip as she glides her fingers against her cunt, stroking her everywhere, spreading her arousal until Hilda can feel the slippery press of Zelda’s fingers filling her slowly. Hilda cants forward, pressing her forehead against her sister’s as Zelda’s fingers sink in deep. She moans loud, unrestrained. 

Hilda will have this sweater bronzed. She’ll wear it every day. She’ll do anything so long as Zelda never stops touching her. She clenches hard around Zelda’s fingers, shudders at the feel of her breasts as they graze against her sister’s. “Oh, Zelds, love -- do it harder…” 

Her cheeks flame as she hears her own lust-rasped voice. 

Zelda’s do too. 

Zelda isn’t a mind-reader, much to her dismay and Hilda’s immense delight, but she doesn’t have to be to know that Hilda wants to be properly _fucked_. She knows what her sister wants when her voice hitches into a whine and her eyes glaze over. She knows just when to sink her fingers into Hilda’s hip, guiding her into a quickening pace to meet the quick thrusts of her other hand. 

Hilda’s hips rise and fall at a frantic pace that must not be comfortable for Zelda’s wrist, but she can’t focus on that now, not when a third finger slips inside. Pleasure burns throughout her body and oh, when she opens her eyes to look down at her sister, she can only see unwavering devotion. 

There are no thoughts to read: Zelda is utterly open, utterly giving, utterly hers. 

Hilda arches her back when Zelda begins to twist and press and stroke against -- “Oh, _there!_ Right -- _Ooh!_

Sometimes Hilda can’t help but emit an empathic shockwave after an intense surge of emotion, and when she comes hard around her sister’s fingers, she can feel the climax wracking her sister’s body in waves of pulsing pleasure, too. It doesn’t just belong to her; it is _theirs_, and it’s always the best when it’s like this, shared amongst sisters. 

It goes on and on. 

Forever and ever. 

Hilda doesn’t realize that she has collapsed on top of her sister until Zelda is rolling them over, stealing her sticky fingers beneath the warm, soft fabric of the cardigan to rest low on Hilda’s waist.

Zelda kisses the freckle nearest to Hilda’s breast. 

Their hearts pound, a duet that has been played for centuries. 

Zelda doesn’t say anything -- she doesn’t have to. 

Hilda already knows. 

She feels exactly the same. 

\---


End file.
